Huntfest
by xFemdomx
Summary: Between seasons 5 and 6; monsters roam and rule the supernatural world, and Hunters are ground into soldiers for the cause. Without Dean, RoboSam and Jo partnered and split after joining the Campbell initiative. Deployed on a lone assignment, Jo must fight for her life and humanity in a madhouse of violence, lies, blood, gore, and monsters. OC big bad and others.
1. Chapter 1

**Note:** This was supposed to be a short story for my other story (The Jo Collective), but I decided it's turning into a stand alone series. I hope those of you who have been reading don't mind the switch and hope the rest of you enjoys it!

* * *

 _Somewhere in Iowa..._

* * *

I fall back into the couch as if to sit in it, but the force of my body propels the blue velvet to tip and slams the backrest into the carpeted floor with me. Legs curling over my head uncontrollably, my neck expands to a point of pinching pain. I yelp and my legs' momentum is stopped short by the wall behind, and they topple over to once side, joints aching.

Hands zip-tied behind my back, I struggle to straighten my neck, flipping onto my stomach so that fucking _thing_ couldn't claw out the vital organs exposed at my front.

I'm crawling, more like inching, forward, my knees bending and my sternum and shoulders burning against the stiff carpet fibers. Blonde strands create a web of hair for my eyes to see through.

The Monticore's snarling mouth and claws tearing into the velvet warn me and brace myself for another attack.

Extended paws thudding on all four sides of my body, the beast stands over my back, pricking on the carpet.

Quickly, I scrunched my chest to my knees, feeling my back hit the prickles on its lean stomach. Just in time, too; the blunt tail smashing down where my head would've been. Even without its scorpion stinger, it would have crushed my skull.

The Monticore roared it's frustration when there was no stinger, or head, to deliver a killing blow into.

Thank god the freak watching this removed it, though he was also the asshole who zip-tied my hands behind my back.

The scorpion-lion creature tried to backtrack, to get its teeth into me, but its ridiculously sharp claws were snagged on the carpet. It panicked and reared them up, yanking long strings of thick fiber, unraveling an entire line.

I roll out from under it and under a large, polished oak piano positioned against the wall and adjacent to similar book cases which had been destroyed by our attack-and-doge format at the beginning of this fight.

I kick the bench at it, hitting the Monticore's side with a painful gnash of its teeth.

Finally free from the carpet's entanglement, it swats the bench seat out of its way, tearing into the wood with a powerfully sharp paw.

I press my back up into the corner of under the piano as claws swipe frantically, like a pet would trying to get at a lost toy.

C'mon, boy, come get me.

It lashes blindly under the piano again, and destroys the piano's pedals. Jagged bits of wood fly and its claws lash deep into my shin.

"AAAHHH!" I scream, as blood responds immediately,"FUUUCK!"

The Monticore peaks its head down at the sound of my injury, lips curling over fangs, pleased.

I grunt and breath shakily through it, pushing my body as far back into the space under, dragging my left leg further out of its reach.

"C'mon! You can fit you massive, ugly shit! Get me!"

In response to my taunt, the creature lurches its large, spiked head under, chompers snapping and spitting. Unable to reach fully underneath, its pinned between the floor and the top of the piano, keys jingling chaotically as its tail works on punching through the self to get better access.

I raise both my legs and kick the side of its face, a sharp pain running through my left shin from the new gash on it. It yelps and snarls, anger anew. Lifting again, I put more force behind my blow and catch the corner of the jaw, jerking its neck violently to the side.

Yes.

There's just enough room for stomp my right foot down, crunch my back and propel forward to land my left knee into its throat and press down. Hard.

The beast successfully tips over, its neck turning the rest of its body as we slide to the other side of the piano. Its upturned, limbs scrape the air in a frenzy, the jaw working to crush my right leg in its mouth. The blunt tail rams downward on the key shelf above as I press down harder, using the short, wooden roof above me for leverage to cut off its air supply before that thing comes crashing down on my head.

I drive my knee down harder, pushing, pushing, pushing down.

The Monticore chokes and sputters over the clamor of keys deafening my ears.

I lengthen my body, grunting and pressing the back of my shoulders against the roof, creating more pressure against its throat.

The tail's crashing against the keys get weaker, the notes softer. The limbs ripping at the wood on the edge of the piano swat slower, fatiguing.

I'm sweating now, using all of my strength as my blood stains the part of its neck I'm suffocating.

The jerking begins, and I know I'm near the end.

Just keep it, just a little more, a little longer.

I find it in me and apply more, as much as I can muster down.

Minutes pass and the monster's body settles from twitching, but I still hold it. I need to be sure the thing is good and dead before I crawl out of here, my eyes glue to his faintly rising chest.

More time passes and the rising is no more, my sweat drips from my forehead and onto the prickles of its coat.

I release and scramble out from under the piano as if it might jump up and attack me again, but it remains upturned and motionless.

Dead.

Finally.

A clapping echoes in the room as I struggle to catch my breath in the center of it, stepping over the overturned couch.

"Nice! No one's ever done that before."

I don't answer the voice that sounds over the speaker in the tall corner of the room by the sealed metal door, but I glare at the camera adjusting to my form next to it.

Hands still behind my back, I shift uncomfortably under the lens' gaze.

"Why a piano?" I pant surlily, "What the fuck is this room? I thought this was an arena."

"I like to set my stages, babe," the speaker crackles, "it's all a part of the thrill. I thought this might warm you up, like those house calls you make, you know?"

I don't answer, limping to test how much weight I can bare to put on my gashed left shin. It's painful, but I manage to put all of my weight on it.

I sit on the rug to inspect it closer, without hands to touch and manipulate it. There was still a trickle of blood seeping though the rips of my jeans.

Time to get out of this behind-my-back shit.

I prep to roll on my back to slide my ass and legs through the hole of my tied arm.

"Ah, don't bother," the masculine voice reassures.

The zip-tie is immediately snapped, the plastic falling harmlessly between my boots while I rub out the pressure lines it caused on my wrists.

I get myself to standing, staring at the camera, "How did you do that?"

"Hello, I'm aware of the supernatural, and disciple of Magnus, I dabble."

"Who?"

"Not important, babe."

Great.

I'm dealing with a psychotic witch who likes to collect crazy exotic pets. I knew I had a bad feeling when Campbell assigned me to find out who and where the 'Zookeeper' was.

It was supposed to be strictly reconnaissance.

I pinned him on an old man in town who gathered bunches of raw meat and other unseemly foodstuffs from the backshop of the butchers. Turns out it was only this fucker's man servant or butler or whatever.

And I, being so brilliant, unknowingly met the real Zookeeper at a bar, and didn't think twice about fooling around with the attractive man named Darren. If that even was his real name.

After waking up in this arena (as he called it) with my hands restrained behind my back, I only had one sarcastic comment on mind before the Manticore was released and I had to snap into hunting mode; guess who I found?

" _Why_ did you have to do that?"

"The Manticore rely on their stingers quite a lot, as you may rely on your hands to hunt. I removed something from him, so I had to disadvantage you too, it's only fair."

"Fuck your fair, he had plenty of other sharp things to fucking get me."

"Not so angry, now Joanna. You may need that energy for your next challenge."

"Next - _next_ challenge?! I killed the thing, I earned my freedom, like you said! Now let me go you sick fuck."

"C'mon now, no need for name calling. Besides, there's more earning still to come, babe, you think it was going to be that easy?"

"Yeah," I scoff loudly, "so easy you should come and fucking try it."

"Tsk. Tsk. So much cussing, what happened? You were such a lovely lady last night."

"You tricked me, you bastard, you were the Zookeeper all along."

"Don't beat yourself up, I can spot a hunter as soon as they come into my town."

"Fuck you."

"Hey. Reminding me of last night won't get you out of this any sooner, 's just a fairness thing you know? Can't treat you different from the other competitors."

"Competitors?"

"Nuh-uh. Not another word about it, hun."

"Who else have you -"

"Your bowie knife is in the side table by the door."

" _What_?"

"Well, you did earn _something_ from this, you think I was gonna let you go to the next level without it?"

"' _Next level_ '? You're seriously. Fucking. Insane. This isn't a video game, you incredible douche, this is _my life_."

"Exactly. _This_ is your life, Jo, _hunting_ monsters. Don't get all upset at me now that I'm just making you do it competitively. So what if they're back to back, they're still monsters, you still got to kill 'em and stay alive while trying. Isn't that the point?"

"What about all those other people you put up to the challenge huh? All those people who don't know how to defend themselves, who don't hunt? They don't-"

"I'm balancing the scale, sweetheart! Every time you hunters meddle with these creatures, you realize you're knocking out natural population control? You just assume that our human race is superior, and this excuses your genocide of the creatures from Purgatory? They have a right and a reason to live just as much as you do hun, why do you think they exist in the first place? My work is undoing all of the fuck-ups you hunters've created for the world."

" _Fuck-ups?_ These are innocent people, you fucking unbelievable-"

"You know what? We could argue this all day babe, but I'm telling you, you're gonna want that knife for what's coming next."

I grit my teeth in my mouth, breathing hard and incorrigibly through my nose, standing in the middle of the trashed room with my arms crossed, refusing to play his game.

"Alright, let me lay it out for you; You can go get your knife and go through that door to the next level, _or_ I can open the door and let the next monster come to an unarmed, trapped you."

I took a breath and let it out my mouth, squishing my nostrils in stress between my fingers as if to itch the inside.

"Fuck." I whisper under my breath, staring at that metal-clad door.

"What's it gonna be, babe?"

Another breath in and I force myself to stomp to the side table, exhaling all the way.

"'You have chosen - wisely.'" His voice nerd-ily quotes and echoes through the room.

I pull the drawer, but it's locked.

"Asshole, it's -"

"Haha! Try again."

Pissed, I yank on the knob again and it magically opens; my father's bowie blade lay polished and teetering against the brown wood.

I take it in hand, letting the tight anxiety of my person loosen slightly by having it in my possession.

"There, you've got a weapon. Happy?"

"Only when I can shove it into your chest."

"Oohwhowhooo!" the speaker whistles tauntingly, "Spicy! You're a fun banterer."

"Fuck off and open the door."

"There we go! See, spirit of the game."

The door loudly releases its latches from the other side, as if someone was behind it, letting me out. I ready the blade parallel to my forearm, hoping to see his or his butler's face, but of course there is no one.

I grit my teeth, take a breath, and step over the threshold and into a gray hallway, the door slamming magically behind my back, wondering what creature would pop out at me next.

"Welcome to Huntfest 2010."


	2. Chapter 2

Knife at the ready, I move down the bland gray hallway nice and slow, eyes taking in every detail of the new space and the door snaps shut behind.

Limping.

"So, _Darren,_ what's this thing's disadvantage, huh?"

The speaker was at the other end, adjacent to the door opposite, a camera next to it, twisting abnormally to the right and oscillating to get a better view.

"For my leg, you know?"

I stare into the lense, "In your own words, it's only fair."

Still, there was silence.

"Fucking typical."

I let a breath out, and go forward; just gotta focus.

There's a longer, narrower hall extending to my right, the door a corner marker. There's no camera at the other end, no speaker either, just two other doors staggered down the bland grey walls and matching tile. Between the darker gray doors, there's a slim stretch of black table, three cabinets in it and a neat little Bonsai tree on top. I stop, hesitating at the choice; open the door or take a creepy walk deeper in this place House of a 1,000 Corpses style.

Just as I'm turning to step down -

"The door." The speaker crackles above my head.

"Oh hey, look who's talking."

"It's right in front of you." His voice echoes over again.

I don't move, "What's behind?"

"Just go in," he says, sounding as if he rolled his eyes.

"What. Is it?"

"Joanna -"

"What's the fucking Zonk, Darren?"

"Ha. Ha. There's No Deal, here Jo. Open-"

"Why?"

"Don't you wanna to find out?"

"Not particularly."

There's a small chuckle, "You are so infuriating."

"It's what I like most about myself. What if open a different door?"

"So curious all the sudden? You'll skew the results of the game, I've designed each of your matches carefully."

"How? You don't really know me or anyone else here."

"Neither do you. But I watch, and I pay attention, Jo."

"Ugh. Creep."

"You're so damn talkative. Before you open it, there's a walkie talkie in the table between the two doors. You'll want it.""

"Wha-"

"Don't get fussy, I'm agreeing to your terms sweetheart, I'm giving you an extra earning _and_ I'm gonna give you a hint about what's behind."

I waited.

"Well?"

"Get the radio first."

I growl, stepping and yanking out the first drawer, taking the radio and snapping it securely to my belt before stepping in front of his desired door.

"Thank you. You're about to see my greenhouse, hun, my favorite place here. I got some cameras in there, but no speakers, so hence the Talkie. Usually there's more than one precious little thing living in there, but I've only got one for you. He's tall, not so dark, and…you get where that's going."

I scoff, "Sure."

Greenhouse, huh?

Not a banshee, Darren said 'he'. Plus there's something sexual about it, the way he put it. I'm thinkin Centaur or Hidimba or Ogre or something. They're known for stealing young women into the forest and…

I blink the thought away.

And I've only got a knife.

Why the fuck do I always fit the profile?

"You scared, babe?"

"Nope." I snap, re-gripping my only weapon firmly in one hand while I put my other on the metallic knob, "Let's do it."

I twist, and it's already open.

"Good luck," his voice cracks from my hip when I shut the door behind me.

Clear, plastic, seamless tarp stretches over white metal stands and paneled arches for yards and yards ahead of me. The natural light was fading, but I was relieved to be able to have some outside air, finally. No matter how chilly it was.

Simple growing lamps hung from the structure above me, some lit a dim yellow and some not at all. On my level, there were boxes of green planted in rich, dark soil. Some boxes were thin with shrubs and stalks, some deep with trees, some lifted and shelved growing flowers and other pretties of nature. Smooth, gray concrete floored the place, and weaved around the greenery, also making a perimeter around the entire greenhouse.

No doors other than the one I just walked through, so I take my first steps inside the new arena, eyes focusing on the upper parts.

Darren said tall.

There was a collection of trees near the middle, looked like it took up most of the back portion.

Could be hiding in there, whatever it is.

I start my walk to it, my step slow and careful.

There was some smoke, rising and snaking through the variety of greens; it was almost still, swirling slowly in the light.

It smells so sweet.

So god damn delicious.

Crisp dust.

Fresh-cut wood.

Cinnamon leather.

Brown sugar beer.

Spiced gunpowder.

Honey whiskey.

Cooked grease.

Uncut sea salt.

Baked lemon.

Wet, musky dirt.

All of it, god, it's perfect.

It needs to be the only smell I'd ever smell again.

I move, arms at my side, inhaling deep, getting closer.

Every tiny strip of smoke inhaled is absolute pleasure.

I was there now, standing outside of the dense center of trees.

Stepping up, I let my boots sink into the soil between the exposed roots.

Another step, and my fingers smooth over the trunks; they guide me closer to it.

The leaves over my head shake and rustle in the windless greenhouse; I keep moving.

A deeply hollow, wooded voice bounces off the scabbed or smoothed trunks, echoing in my ears.

I veer away from it, and a sudden addictive rotten undertone poisons the scent of my favorite perfume.

I keep inhaling, the rustle continues to be provoked without force, the laughter continuously rolls loud, louder.

I'm in the middle, at the source, I realize, of the smell, the leaves, the voice, all pressuring my skin, chest, and mind.

I turn, and it's there, towering - at least two feet over my head. It's almost humanoid, it's skin is bark-like, eyes smoldering, as if there's a fire inside. The smoke leaks out it's hollowed head top, pouring out slow and majestic. The mouth carved and remarkably polished from his wide, tree-face was gaped open, also glowing from the inside, like cherried ashes in a pipe.

A Kapre.

Scary tree monster-man who tends to hypnotize young women with their scent production and lead them off the forest trail, taking them to do god knows what then and or consuming/cooking them inside his slow-burning core to feed.

I've only read about them. Never had to face one.

Until now.

Fuck.

"Tall," I scoff in panic, and realize I've been stupefied.

I raise my knife to slash - but the tree-man's vine hands shoot out and twine around my forearm and begin to constrict my wrist.

My mind's fuzzy, senses smothered by the sweet scent; dulled and lulled.

Fuck.

At least I have the sense to avoid his other arm - roots shooting out to restrain my weapon-less hand. I swing my arm back around, and take the knife into the new palm.

I slash madly at the vines, feeling my arm throbbing under the intense squeeze.

The Kapre moans like a tree twisting in the wind, at the sawed end of my bowie cuts away, amber sap weeping like hot syrup. The carvings are easy to make, the bark layer is as thick as human skin. I cut frantically, all the while avoiding chaotic root-like fingers that burst in attempt to wrap around my wrist.

Fuck.

I slice away a finger (at least it wouldn't grow back instantly like in the movies), raise my boot and kick his trunk, as if it would help. I step on his trunk-leg, pushing with all my strength against it, hoping to slide it out of the grip, but the sappy blood trickled down and work to stick against my skin.

One boot against his leg turns to two, working at a leverage.

Growling my frustration, I hack and hack and push against from my boots, trying to pull my arm out, writhing my body out if the way from everything the monster's throwing at me.

The strain and constriction of my arm is too much - I'm feeling my shoulder being pulled from the girdle unnaturally.

"FUCK!" I scream, feeling and hearing the resounding _pop_.

Dislocated.

I hack harder, and snap another finger from the monster.

He releases me - I fall on my spine, sharp tingles waving from the impact point.

I roll - his rooted foot stomps.

I stab - he groans loudly and reaches down - the smoke seeping more intensely from the spaces of his barked skin.

Quick decision, I hold my breath. If he poisons me anymore, I won't be able to defend myself.

Back against a harmless tree trunk, I kick his reach away, dive between his legs and roll.

I gasp for new breath, I get to my feet and run. While I race through the greenhouse forest, I cut off an arm from my green long sleeve and quickly tie it painfully around my face, doubling the fabric over my nostrils and mouth to reduce the intake spellbinding smoke.

He's faster than I thought, I can hear him thundering close after me.

Fuck.

I've reached outside the collection of trees, and I jump back to the gray concrete floor of the greenhouse. What little light there was is gone now, and the darkness sheds a dark blue, the moon somewhere outside providing some cream light.

I'm out. Open space. No blending from him. My advantage now.

He's out now too, smoke pouring out in heavy heaps, swirling quickly to surround me. His huge ass body looms threateningly over, black shadow casting.

Maybe not.

I run away from it, and kick a raised unit of flowers between us as a blockade. He tips it over easily, fertilized mulch spilling over and wood breaking under his massive step.

I grip my father's bowie tighter in my left hand, watching him come closer.

Fuck.

My dominate hand is way too weak and dislocated to defend myself, my left will have to do. I've been practicing ambidexterity defense back at the compound, time to put it to use.

He's gaining speed, his eyes burning brighter.

I turn and sprint down the concrete path, the plastic waving with the force of our chase disrupting the air.

He's close, I can hear him. One reach and those vines could wrap around my - there he his, his 'finger' slithering around my waist to -

I spin around and cut, but it's just not thick enough. The sap seeps, and I'm forced to try and kick it off me again - but no avail. I shout, and he throws my body into the growing shrubs and stalks of crop with a roaring moan.

I'm fuzzy again, vaguely aware than my forehead hit the wooden box in which I was thrown. My right hand reaches up to touch the pint of injury, and see blood on my fingers. My makeshift mask is dislodged, the soil staining and streaking my skin and clothes, rubbing into my wound from that fucking Monticore and the new one on my head.

I go to move, get up to my knees but find him waiting - before I do anything else I raise the mask clumsily over my face.

He bends to reach for me again - I slash - he withdraws and hisses.

I lunge away, blade out and ready to whip his barked skin again - roll and dart away from the monster.

He follows.

I leap into a patch of planted shrubs, a tree in the middle of them in hopes to slow his chase of me down. His massive arm swipes to get me, but I duck just in time and it uproots the tree with the force, knocking it clean over.

Fuck!

I roll out, breathing hard, and keep down against the deep box holding the now damaged shrubbery, hopefully out of his sight. His moan and wild tearing at the contents let me know it worked. I'm going for a change in tactic. A fucking crazy plan.

Keeping my crouch, I cut some shrubs to hold in my right and get back down when they were free and follow the box until the corner and dump out, still in crouch. I creep behind him, still tearing up the soil looking for me.

Let's hope this works.

"Alright, you, fucked-up Groot, let's do this."

I'm up and charge his back.

His creaking growl shrieks through the air; he's heard me.

Before his massive body could turn around, I launch myself up and drive my blade into his back using it's deep insertion to hang from. He squeaks loud like it was his scream of pain, and I claw with my distantly controlled fingers on my dislocated arm to get some holds other than from my blade hilt. My boots scrape on his barked back, gaining traction to climb.

I climb, keeping my knife inserted, using it as a secure foothold while I cling to the sides of his open, hollow head.

The smoke slams my senses. The fabric isn't enough to protect me from it this close.

It's wonderful. The smell, the feeling, the instant happiness - FOCUS!

Inside, it's black, charred like a natural tree whose insides were eaten away by fire while the shell outside remains. From where the smoke is rising, a smoldering heart, carefully controlled ambers that make his supernatural life and power possible. _Controlled_ is they key.

He's still a tree, and he will still burn when that fire isn't a nice smolder anymore.

A tree is a tree is a freaky humanoid tree.

With dulling thoughts, I drop the shrub I cut inside, and the fire peaks and rises so quickly that I jerk my face away from the instant heat.

But I forget I'm up high, I slide - I'm falling - my hand closes around my father's Bowie hilt; my right hand.

I scream, the dislocation tearing.

It joins in with the big man's screams, the fire was rising too high and was catching to the unprotected, outside layer of barked skin.

While he screams and shakes and whirls around in dying panic, I'm holding on; I let go, realizing the fuel was already burning out. I need to put more in. More shrubs, more flame = monster death.

I rush over to the shrubs he had uprooted, turn and take aim. The first misses, but the second makes it in the hoop of his head, clean swish.

The fire bursts higher, and soon licks from the inside of all his extremities. He falls with a massive thud, his life-force finally burnt out while I walk over to the burning, charring remains, put a boot on the disintegrating woody body and pull out the Bowie from his back.

Letting it cool in the night air, I begin my walk to the door I came in, a smug smile on my face and a pride in my step while I unclip the Walkie Talkie from my side.

I press down the button, letting my high cockiness run rampant.

Fuck yeah.

"Since this thing only has one frequency, I'm guessing you're the only one I can talk to."

Radio silence.

"Oh _Dare-ren_ ," I sing into it, "where'd you go? C'mon, another down! Gimme what's comin' next, I'm ready for it!"

I release the button when the receiving side crackles in warning of response.

"Jo." Comes a familiar voice from the speaker in my palm.

I freeze, and grip my Bowie tighter.

"Sam?"


	3. Chapter 3

**Note:** JBethH you are so freakin' awesome. Thank you for your continued support, you keep me posting :)

Also, I'm adding an OC Campbell (Mark's brother Jason Campbell), but I own nothing from Supernatural!

* * *

 _A month earlier..._

* * *

We were hot on the trail of two demons, a couple of red eyes. Full force chase down the alley. I tackled one to the ground and crashed into piles of trash bags.

Sam kept his pursuit of the other; who'd run into the back door of a closing bar.

A couple of blows and rolling around on the dirty pavement before I got in a pistol-whip. A few words in latin later and I managed to send the demon to hell and save the soul trapped inside.

I had been glad not to be rusty on the demon hunt - I hadn't been on one in a while. All monsters all the time. I hoped Sam had just as much luck.

Shot fired - one.

The sound bounced loudly from the bar Sam had run into.

I sprinted, leaving the saved, sputtering man laying in the trash.

I kept running, kicked open the door and rushed in -

Sam had demon #2 at gunpoint; red eyes wide and bewildered.

Second gunshot.

The discharge compressed my ears to a pounding silence. The body dropped, next to another.

"Sam -" I started, but was at a loss for words.

He turned, barrel to the floor, eyes casual.

I looked beyond him - a woman laying dead next to the other, both had bullets in the gut, blood pooling.

"You get yours?" He asked, a small grin there.

I said nothing, staring from the victims to my partner, feeling as if I should raise the gun in my hand and take aim for justice.

But I didn't.

"Jo?"

 _POW._

Her eyes hadn't closed in death; a gorgeous, lifeless hazel.

 _POW._

"Jo?" Sam's voice cracks over in real time.

The memory fizzles out to the static in my handset.

I remember myself and where we are now.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

"Your text. You found the Zookeeper."

"I sent that to Campbell."

"And he sent me out."

I ground my teeth, Sam wasn't who intended Samuel to back me up with. Neither were my favorite men in the world, and that was a kind way to put it.

The last time I saw Sam...the gunfire pounds like the blood in my eardrums - I slam the memory back down; now is definitely not the time.

"Wrong guy anyway."

"What?"

"The Zookeeper. You came too late. Looks like he got you too." While I spoke, I put my right palm flat against the wall, grimacing and gulping.

"We were looking for you. He drugged us, I just woke up to your voice."

"We?" I apply some pressure and whimper.

"Gwen and Jason came with."

"Not with you now?" I strain, pushing.

"He wants us isolated."

"It's a game to him. He's fucking scoring us." I push harder.

"Wanna know who's got the highest?" A third chimed in, his voice pitching a smile.

I grit, feeling my dislocation grow smaller and smaller.

Darren continues, "Give the lady a prize!"

"AAAGHGHHHAHH!" I scream, my shoulder popping audibly back in.

"Woah, don't need to get that excited. You _are_ winning, but gez."

"You...fucker-" I breathe out weakly, clutching my other arm tenderly.

"To be fair though, you did get a head start."

"Yeah? What's next, huh?" I growl low, "Gonna give me a gun? Come out from wherever your hiding?"

Darren's laugh snarls my lips.

"If only, cutie. No, you'll see soon enough. Back to the hall."

"Sam," I ignore the order, "where are you?"

I didn't exactly want to team up again, but over this fucker, Sam was the better choice of psycho.

"Why? Gonna come rescue me?" Sam's sarcastic scoff/chuckle broke his silence from listening to my and Darren's exchanges, "Do you even where _you_ are?"

"Greenhouse." I snap, and turn to the plastic wrapping the place up.

"There's a greenhouse? Damn, day job must pay well."

"That it does." Darren responded charmingly.

"Damn it, Sam, I'm trying to get us out of here-"

"How?"

"Just-"

"It's a room with four walls and a door," the Winchester scoffs again, "that help?"

"Alright, I'm tired of this. Get back to the door, Jo."

"Fuck off, both of you." I move to slash the plastic open for escape -

"DON'T!" Darren's voice suddenly blows out the Talkie.

I jump, the surprise staying my action, and smile smugly.

"Touchy. Looks like I found my way out."

"Do it and Gweny gets it."

"She'll kill anything you throw at her -"

"No she can't."

"Sam!"

"What? She can't. Not that she's not good, she's a newb."

"Goddamnit, what is _wrong_ with you?"

Darren's laugh fills the static.

Sam sighs apathetically, "Just do what he says Jo, it's not like you can actually _do_ anything about it now. Stop trying to take control. It's pointless."

"Precisely - oh, I _like_ you Sam! Great picka partner you got here Jo."

I huff and rush back to the door, realizing grudgingly that he had a point.

I rip open the door, ready to wail on whatever surprise he had for me beyond it. I'm back to the boring gray hallway.

"He's not my partner."

"Oh man, getting a bit chilly in there bud?"

"I'm fine." Sam respons, the grin in his tone.

"You two wanna take a private channel to talk about your feelings?"

"After I'm done with you. Last door in the hall. Go inside."

I walk to it, hesitate and turn to look over the corner -

"Tsk. Tsk!" This time his voice rang over the speaker at the end of the hall, "No looking at presents before Christmas. Bad girl. Inside you go."

"I'm not one of your freakin' pets, doucheass. Where's my _prize_?"

"It's in the room. None of my pets in there, I promise."

There's a beat when his voice over the speaker dies and I hesitate to open the door in front of me.

Fuck.

Sam's right, there's nothing I can do right now. If I disobey, he can kill Gwen, or set monsters on me…or something worse I can't even come up with because his mind is too fucking twisted to relate to.

With a defeated sigh, I twist the knob open.

The door pushes away, revealing a wide, black desk, chair of the same color in front of it. Four computer screens sitting on it and countless wires shoot out from individual holes all over the ceiling, tied together by neat twist-ties before plugging in nicely behind the computers. It was a tiny room, with a ratted black couch pushed against the wall adjacent, one coverless pillow on it paired with a white knitted blanket. The walls themselves were white.

I step in, and he magics the door shut behind me.

"Da-dada-dahh! One of my surveillance rooms!" Darren had switched over to the talkie again; I'm guessing I lost comm with Sam in the transfer.

In the small square of free space, I turn 360 to find the camera so he could watch me to watching my friends.

I lift the talkie to my mouth and press the button down, "One?"

"Well, I'm in the other. You're a lucky girl, get to be a pair of my eyes."

I turn to the screens, each split in the middle to lay out two different places - eight in all.

Each place had a person in it, name printed below in classic video stamp text(date, time and name) - only three I immediately recognized.

Gwen and Jason Campbell were on the first screen; Gwen pacing in circles and biting her thumb in a Billiard room, Jason trying to kick the door of his square little bedroom down.

Sam was in the middle screen in the top section, laying on a bed, Walkie Talkie resting on his chest, arms behind his head and foot tapping to some beat. Below him was a blonde, short-haired woman obviously in distress, shouting and screaming at the camera in the high corner of another small bedroom, the bottom typed: PENNY.

Second to last screen, there were two other strangers. One staring at the blood on machete in her hand, dark hair disheveled and dirty, standing over what looked like a man's headless corpse in a hall that was blocked off. LINA. She was in obvious shock. Bottom video feed showed a man who was splattered with blood, shaking violently as he bent over to pull out his knife from a woman who had it sticking right out form her heart. The first pull did not free it, he pulled so hard that he fell on his ass, and scrambled away frantically to the book cases behind him. RODERICK.

The last screen was the worst to look at, just one dead laying in a nameless room with a monster feasting and prowling. MIKEY. Below his motionless scene was my an upward view of my face, watching it all.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"What? Mikey? He didn't make the first round. Lina and Rod though, they have some promise it's their second-"

"It's horrible-"

"Exactly! The creatures just wanted to eat! Speaking of hungry, take a look at our girl Penny."

My eyes shot to the scene below Sam.

Penny had stopped freaking, and was now staring wide-eyed to the corner of the room opposite to the door - the wall was miraculously opening, a child walking calmly through.

No audio.

"Lina, Rod and Penny were supposed to be your only competition - then your hunting buds showed up and I had to add them too, it's great! Huntfest just gets bigger and bigger each year!"

Penny steps toward the child, but it's face springs suddenly to a discolored, slimy skin, hollow eyes and round mouth with rows of circling teeth.

A Changeling child fuck.

"Stop it!"

"Why?"

"These are innocent people -"

"No such animal."

"We aren't animals!"

"We all are! Don't lie to yourself, it isn't healthy. Relax, I gave her some gas and some matches. She hasn't used them yet."

The Changeling child leapt at Penny, and she jumps - but the monster child has her legs.

"She doesn't know!"

"Then she's stupid and the Changeling deserves a meal! I gave them to her for a reason, she should have figured it out by now."

"Stop it, just tell me what the fuck to do!"

Darren doesn't respond.

I watch, eyes glued to the lower half of the screen.

Penny is kicking and kicking, but the child is climbing up her body, teeth out and whirring.

I feel the pull in my chest to do something - to get to her, to help, to light the little motherfucker up in a blaze of fire like I did the Kapre.

Their struggle moves to the top most of the screen - and my eye catches Sam's door opening above, he's talking into the Talkie, walking through the door.

No wonder he's quiet - he's conversing with Sam.

I look back to Penny - She's kicked the little freak away, and now she's using the gas can as a weapon, but in the wrong way. She's hitting it with the tin, denting it.

Fuck.

I switch back to Sam, the camera view changed and Darren's leading him down a hall, and instructs him to open a door in it, I'm guessing, cause he opens one - the scene changes again and I see a larger room, dark, looks like a garage or something.

Sam goes in, and looks down to a large knife hanging from the key ring next to the door. He takes it, the door shuts, and Sam belts the Talkie.

I almost crush my Talkie in hand, "Talk to me, dick, what do you want?"

Still, he doesn't answer me.

I get up from the chair, it rolls violently to the couch and I'm pulling at the door, the knob stuck and rattling violently between the threshold.

I snap back to the screen.

Penny's against the wall, keeping the child away with her shaking arms, her face crying.

Sam's faced with a gigantic beast - a fucking Minotaur.

Jason was on his way to another room - per speaker instruction.

Gwen's had released a monster too - a Wraith man; the sharp bones coming out of its wrists and slashing.

"GODDAMN IT!"

I changed tactics, shoving my heels forcefully against the door in turn. I knew it was near impossible to break - it was magicked, but I couldn't just sit - I had to get out - try every door - find them, help them -

"Would you stop that?" the Talkie on the desk cracked.

"I'm trying to give you time to rest up, get a feel for your competition. C'mon Jo, enjoy the show!"

I refused to sit down, but my eyes wouldn't follow the protest - they were on the screens.

The other two were stuck in the room with the bodies they'd slain; Roderick overcome with fear, crying in the corner while Lina was puking in hers.

Jason was in his new room - a lounge - fighting a Lamia viciously, jumping all around to avoid it's claws.

Gwen had been cut on her cheek, but rolled under the pool table for some distance, silver knife held out and shaking with adrenaline.

Sam was in the middle of the tallest throw-down ever, blade slashing wildly at the massive monster's body.

Penny was loosing, the changeling having already bit into her arm - she ripped herself away, leaving a good chunk in the kid's mouth - the matches untouched on the table next to the door.

"You really want to _help_?"

"Let me out of here!"

"Between sleeping and gathering your strength for your upcoming fights, you'd rather _help_ your competition?"

"It's NOT a game!"

"Fine. Your choice, your sacrifice."

He sounded butthurt; like I gave a fuck.

"Desk drawer. Second down."

I open it; a microphone.

Already, I know which room he's connected me to - I slam down the red button and speak.

"Penny! Spray the kid with the gas."

Frantic, the woman looks up to the camera - and lets the Changeling dive and bite a chunk of her leg.

Darren lets the audio loose and the computer speakers blow out her terrible scream.

"DO IT!"

With the kid still attached she does; it guzzles out, pouring all over. Then she dents the empty can more with creature-kid's face. THWACK. THWACK. The monster is off her leg.

"Get the matches."

A realization dawned over her face and limbs thrash noisily over the speaker.

"I can't -"

"Light it up."

"Please, stop it, please-"

"LIGHT IT!" I shout, too tired, injured and panicked to deal with her fears, hesitation and trauma. I'm saving her life.

Sobbing, she does as I say - the Changeling is up and running at her, shrieking - she screams and throws the matches.

The fire is brilliant - blinding the screen, hissing from what I can hear, and Penny's still crying hard behind it.

I let out a relieved sigh, then switch my eyes over to the two other strangers; Lina and Roderick, still recovering from their second kills.

Jason was drawing his first forced hunt to an end.

Gwen had managed to snap a pool stick lodged it into the Monster's torso at some point in the fight - and was plunging the silver in now. I knew she had it in her.

Penny's shrill, terrorized voice sounded over, and my eyes blinked to her screen half.

"Please - please - stop this! Why are you doing this to me? Why - please-"

"Penny, I'm not-"

"PLEASE!" She screamed louder at the sound of my voice, "just - please let me go, please. Please let me go."

She continued to sob, and cry and scream and beg at me, directly at the camera.

"I didn't-" I gulp it down, realizing there was no convincing her that I wasn't the monster who did this.

And while she pleaded on, my eyes lifted to Sam's half.

The Minotaur was on the ground, unmoving. Already dead.

I couldn't look away as he bent over the beast, and started to saw away at the neck with the thick blade. Blood spurted on the ground, up his shirt, on his grinning face.

 _POW. POW._

"Please! Just let me go - I can't - I don't - I don't want to die -"

 _Her innocent hazel eyes shone on; dead -_ Sam's body, hands and face is painted in blood.

 _"_ _You get yours?"_


End file.
